Jan

'But don't you think they should be bigger?'

'Trouble, I think they fit you just fine.'

That earned me a dirty look before she said, 'I didn't ask if you thought they fit okay, I asked if you thought they should be bigger.'

'Jan, why are you asking me this? I mean, really?'

She hesitated a bit, before answering with 'I heard some of the boys at school talking, and they all wanted to go out with one girl that has really large ones. I thought if mine were bigger, they'd want to go out with me, too. I want to be pretty, like she is.'

'Trouble, I think what you were hearing was just hormones talking in those guys. Do you think your mom is pretty?'

'Sure!'

'But she doesn't have a large bust, does she?'

'Well, no.'

'Stop and think about it for a bit: think of all the movie actresses that are so popular. How many of them have large busts, and how many are small-to-medium sized? And think carefully about what you hear guys say about the girls with the really large breasts, and look at the women that most men choose to be their wives. It's the difference between lusting after the unusual, and loving the realistic.'

'Yeah, I suppose.'

'Trust me on this one, Trouble: You look just fine, and I don't think you're going to have any problems finding a boy that agrees with me.'

That seemed to comfort her, and we went into the living room to watch TV while Leo and John electronically mangled and mutilated each other in the den. Before long, it was time for them to go to bed, and not much later, Jan left, as well.

Imagine my surprise when, a few minutes later, Jan joined me in the living room again – wearing her bathrobe. I pretended not to notice, and she sat down at the opposite end of the couch from me. I could see that she had something on her mind, but was willing to let her pick her own time and place to say her piece.

First one program finished, then another. Finally, though, I could see her turn to me. I waited until she cleared her throat before taking notice. When I did turn and look at her, she hesitated a moment before speaking.

'I've been thinking about what you said about women, and their breasts.'

'Yeah?'

'I think you're probably right.'

'Thank you.'

'But I'm still not sure about my breasts. I don't know if they look okay, or not.'

'Jan, from where I sit, I think they look just fine.'

With that, she seemed to reach a decision – the decision to open her robe, and show me her bare chest.

What I saw was a pair of smallish – each about the size of half an orange, or perhaps a bit larger – breasts, gently rounded, and capped with freckle-brown areolas and pencil-eraser-sized (and obviously erect) nipples.

I looked up at her face, and saw a mixture of emotions on it – fear of rejection, embarrassment, and a bit of arousal. I raised an eyebrow in question, and got a nod in permission to look more closely.

Moving carefully and slowly, I slid a bit closer, and leaned forward a little for a closer look. What I saw was a slight crinkling of her areola and nipples as her arousal grew – along with a slight, faint dusting of freckles across the upper slopes of her breasts. Otherwise, her skin was flawless: a warm, rosy pink, without blemishes. She shivered a bit, and I could see the ever-so-slight jiggle of firm, young, female flesh. When I looked up again (after trying to memorize the sight!), she had a nervous – but questioning – look on her face.

I slid back to my end of the couch, and smiled at her, before telling her 'I was right – from where I sit, they look just fine. Better than that, they look delightful! What you might think you lack in quantity, you more than make up for in quality.'

She looked relieved, and closed her robe – something I must confess I regretted.

With her robe closed, she looked at me again, blushed slightly, and said, 'Okay, I guess now I can believe you.'

I laughed briefly, and asked her 'What? Is this a face that would lie to you?' gesturing to my own face.

She giggled, and headed back to her room.

I have to admit that the view she'd given me stimulated me – but not enough to follow up on it. Understand, I enjoy pretty young girls as much as anyone else – but this was my best friend's daughter, only 14 years old, and someone that I'd grown fond of, in an Uncle-like way. I wasn't about to do anything to frighten or otherwise disturb her – never mind anything that would alienate her dad, my friend. All I could do was remember it (with fondness!), without any plan or hope that things would go any farther.

Several weeks went by before Paul had to go on any more road trips.

During that time, he and I got together several times to have a couple beers, watch a game on TV, or even play a little (bad) golf. As was usually the case, our conversations varied in subject: anything from what the lugnuts in Congress were doing to screw up the country, to (only slightly exaggerated) stories from our youth, to how the kids were doing. On that last subject he once asked me if I had any idea of how Jan was doing on her sex ed stuff on the Net. I honestly told him that I'd made her stuff hidden, and that I really had no idea what she was looking at or learning – and pointed out that I suspected that neither one of particularly wanted to know, when it got right down to it. That earned me a wry laugh, along with his agreement.

When he finally did have to leave, though, it was a doozy: 3 full days, and most of a fourth, in late June.

I had just finished a big project, and had several days before I needed to start on the next one, so Paul and I agreed that I would just go ahead and stay at his place. It simplified the logistics, and most important, didn't leave the kids without someone to turn to in case there were any problems. As usual on his multi-day trips, he had promised the kids that he'd call each night to talk to them.

Things went along just fine – all the kids had something to do during the day, so I only had to make a couple of pickups and deliveries of warm bodies. That meant that I was able to take a couple of naps, and just generally laze about. Even the evenings went well, at first. The boys would get wrapped up in a movie on cable TV, and by the time it ended, they were ready – if not necessarily willing – for bed. Jan would have a friend or two over (with her dad's permission and my approval), and they'd normally spend most of the evening in her room, chattering about teenage girl stuff (boys, clothes, boys, school, boys, and whatever else they could think of). I'd either watch TV with Leo and John, read a book, or just sit outside on the patio with a beer, and watch the world go by.

It wasn't until the last evening – before Paul was to get home – that things changed.

To start with, each of the boys had been invited to spend the night with one of their friends, with them to be returned early the following morning. Paul had Okayed it, so I was fine with it, as well. It was a relatively quick trip to get each of them delivered to the appropriate place – along with a (possibly futile) admonition to behave themselves.

When I got back from that, Jan quietly informed me that her friend had called to cancel a visit. I asked her what she was going to do, and she shocked me by saying that she hoped she could have a talk with me about some of the stuff that she'd learned on the Internet. I wasn't real happy about the idea, but determined to 'be there' for her when she needed someone, so I agreed.

After a little fiddling around, we got settled in the den, with each of us at opposite ends of a large couch.

The conversation started out mildly enough – her wanting to verify some of what she'd read on the sites she'd visited: slang terms for anatomical parts, and so on. I think both of us blushed more than once, at first, before we simply hit some kind of 'intimacy overload', and the terms just became more words.

Things started to heat up, though, when she started asking me if I'd ever done any of the things she'd read about: oral sex, anal sex, mutual masturbation, and such. I have to admit that I was a little uncomfortable discussing it with her (mostly because of her age, though a little because of the previous views I'd had of her, as well). I did concede to pretty much most of the stuff she'd read about (which, happily, hadn't been all that much!), and when pressed, provided explanations and details of the acts – though not the time or circumstances. (How do you explain a 19-year-old sailor stationed overseas renting 3 bar girls – all at the same time – for a long weekend? Particularly to your best friends young daughter? Yeah, it was fun (!!), but how do you explain it?) I could tell from the expression(s) on her face as I was talking that she wasn't any too sure about some of what I was saying. But, when she asked even more explicit questions, I answered as honestly and completely as I could.